Eigth Wonders of the World
by orange crush
Summary: An afternoon on the beach, a hanging, a future built for two. UPDATE ALERT : FINAL CHAPTER ADDED !
1. Peas in a Pod

"Honestly, you nearly drowned, I can't even fathom why you were wearing the damned thing."

"What ?"

"Well, look at you." Jack smoothed a hand up her waist, flat and well-planed like a ship's rail, boyish to the point of being awkwardly angular; and grinned sideways at her. "There's nothing on this frame that needs tying down."

"It was the fashion." she stared him down, icy. "I've seen your fat Tortuga whores, and if this body is an unpleasant sight-"

"Shh, shh." he placed a finger to his mouth, then hers. He tilted her chin up, willed her petulant lips to unwind, to have a look at him. Elizabeth found herself cooling in the depths of his eyes; soaring past his brain to the coral and sand, the endless echo of the sea playing noiselessly in a human skull. He was unique, perhaps, or perhaps not. Perhaps the sea drove other men to madness, or genius, or sheer deathless love of it; but, she wondered, how often all three ?

"Jack…"

"Shh, love. There's nothing but pleasure here, far as the eye can see."

She hated him. Hated him with radiance of the sun, and the good breeding of a hundred generations of folks whose wigs and gates forever separated their kind from the scummy kind in which they'd surely originated. Jack was one of those, a rum-soaked ancestor type; her people had made more of themselves, much more, and damned if she wasn't willing to remind him every moment of every day with her posture, her restraint, and her fiery, seething, righteous anger.

Also, she was hot. And not very pleased with the day.

"Rum ?" he asked. "Or are you just going to insult me again ?"

"Why, you filthy, insolent bag of traitorous, filthy murdering-"

"You've used filthy twice." He broke in, taking a swig.

Elizabeth blinked, in the hope that the darkness of her eyelids could instantly erase this flat, scorching island and it's frustratingly wicked second inhabitant.

"What ?"

"S'bad form. Here, try 'slovenly'." He spelled the word in cursive with his hands, on an imaginary chalkboard. Elizabeth sniffed delicately.

"I will not take suggestions from you. You betrayed Will." Dark eyes, with a momentary flash of anger, glanced up at hers.

"Actually, Will betrayed himself, as you'll recall." Jack scowled, as the internal clock of his separation from the _Pearl_ ticked on. "Opened his bloody big mouth, threw himself to the lions, in case you've blocked the memory, love." he drawled. She ignored the endearment, but sat down beside him with a little sigh.

"Well. Yes. But only to save us." Jack indicated the island with his right hand, and took a drink with his left.

"And he did a bang-up job, I can see that."

"You're horrible." she frowned, without much conviction.

"Only when I'm drunk."

"That seems to be the only constant with you."

Jack gave her an incredulous once-over, and laughed out loud. The edges of her eyes crinkled with pleasure at the sound for a brief second before she looked away; and Jack found himself thinking _well, there's something_. He passed her the bottle, and surprising both of them, took it unhesitatingly.

"Yeah, well, it's my niche."

"You're lovely… when you're drunk."

Jack attempted to make a sweeping bow, but toppled over instead, hair narrowly missing the embers of the bonfire. She laughed and clapped her hands together, and dropped her half-empty bottle in the process. He crawled across the sand in broad pantomime, dragging at her skirts, and she shrieked and danced out of reach. They chased each other in a circle, screaming, until driftwood declared Jack the winner by managing to trip and tumble Elizabeth head-over-heels. In a heap of limbs and clothing, his mouth met the back of her neck, and she went still. 

"You're still horrible." she whispered. He kissed the spot again, and she leaned her thin back into his sand-spattered chest. He sighed, deeply.

"At least I'm consistent."

"I've never- I mean, it's not that I don't know what to do, but-"

"S'alright." he nuzzled the crown of her head with his cheek, and ceased tugging at her shift strings. "S'notreely the time, anyhow." he slurred.

"Not the time ?" 

"Not like thish. No'here, in drink and deshperration." though drunk, she sat up stiffly and clutched her bosum like a knife had been driven into it. 

"I'm not desperate ! I could… I could have any man I wanted !" Jack shook his head, and drew her body, quivering with slightly addled fury, back to him. 

"Not what'a mean."

"Then…"

"When I have you, I'll _have_ you." he said, regaining his consonants for a moment of seriousness. "I'll bloody well have you, sober as a stinking judge, savvy ? And not with sand going up m'trousers." he sank back down, rolling a bit, and she laid her head against his neck. In a moment, he was snoring. _I think perhaps you will _she said, but not aloud.

The governor stood at the bottom of the stairs, raising his voice to the timbre of one in authority. Three girls had gone up to attend Elizabeth, _how many fingers does it take, really, to tie stays ? _he thought impatiently. 

"Is Miss Swann finished dressing yet ? We don't want to miss the business at the Fort, unpleasant though it may be."

"She's… she's…"

"Spit it out, man !"

"She's gone, sir."

From his seat on the rowboat, in between pulling oars, Jack eyed her skeptically.

"It's a good look on you, you know, the full dress uniform. But don't tell me you've actually cut your hair."

"No." she shook it out from beneath the cap, and smiled. "Still in all it's glory."

"Very good."

She surveyed the coastline for signs they were being watched; none came. Elizabeth had memorized the coastline since she was a girl, swimming and playing, until it had been time for her to "join society as a real woman", her father had put it. The route she'd chosen was well-hidden by jutting rocks, and not easily accessible by larger boats. 

"Your ship's docked around this ridge. I thought it'd make the best impression, if it wasn't seen at all. Vanishing into nowhere sounds like the makings of a fine legend." she said confidently. Jack was so flabbergasted that he actually stopped rowing. 

"What, and let them forget the _Pearl_ is still the terror of the seas, lurking at every corner, bold and free and cutting across the waves faster than any legal vessel ?"

"Row, Jack."

"Impossible woman." he said, and kissed her; and rowed for dear life. 


	2. Ships in the Night

The ship was all things to those that manned her; a mother, whose gentle rock lulled them to sleep; a petulant woman that tossed her sails like so much flowing hair; a half-grown child that needed discipline; and, perhaps most clearly, a lover. In the rigging, they climbed her eagerly, reaching out with greedy hands; they polished brass with caresses instead of rags. She was always stately, her colors proud and high. 

The bleak despair of the seamen's lives was that, though in the secret hours of the night they'd often spoken to her, she would never return more than a sigh of the hull, or a creak of the mast. Elizabeth was aware that tradition declared her presence a bad omen, but she considered the Pearl a kindred female spirit, and often caught herself asking permission of the ship when no one was around. But the ship remained silent as the air. Except for Jack, of course. To him she told her life story, kept him awake at night with tales of wind and water. Jack and the Pearl spoke a language built for two.

He kept her secrets, as was their bargain; and whatever secrets of his she knew, she sank with. 

"We're not going to Port Royal. We're going for repairs- there's a crack on the hull that's not dangerous yet, but it could be."

"He's my father, Jack. I won't miss the ceremony."

"Yes, in the last three days of this argument, that's become quite apparent."

"I don't want to miss it !"

"And I don't want to be _hanged_ !" he yelled at last, pounding the table with his fist. "Port Royal ! The site of my most recent arrest, if you'll check your nostalgia for the place a wee second. And have you ever thought, dear heart, that going back to see your father would not look very well for him ?"

It was possible. Her letters had most likely reached him, but nothing had returned for her where she collected her mail, at the house of Jack's elderly and land-retired shipmate. Her father was a king's man, through and through- losing a daughter to pirates, in whatever form that loss came, was a blow to his dignity she hadn't considered. _But what I did consider_, she thought, _was Jack_. _And I have to consider him now if that's to mean anything at all_. She thought of feet suspended in the air, helpless, and decided to congratulate her father from a safe distance.

"I'll send another letter."

"Send him some of that." Jack said, nodding to the cupboard where they stored some of their most expensive treasures. "A present for the septuagenarian."

"He's not that old."

"And I'm not that good-looking." he sidled up to her and laid a hand just above the curve of her backside. "Trick of the light, you know. But you could always find-"

"You love this ship more than you love me." she said, softly, begging to be proven wrong. Jack lifted his hand away and stared, one hand twirling a braid for concentration.

"This isn't about your father's brouhaha at all, is it ?" Silence. "Lizzie…there's nothing I love more than you." And although there was no "but", she felt it hanging in the air. "But. I love the Pearl as _much_ as I love you."

He dodged the inkstand that flew at him, and ducked beneath a desk to watch her turn a bright pink. "No, love-"

"It's a boat ! A piece of wood and cloth !" she fumed. Sighing, he stood up and tried to take her into his arms, but she drew away, shaking her head.

"Love-" he began, patiently.

"IT'S JUST A BIG WET BARREL !"

"Please, please listen to me. Elizabeth, sweetling…" he coaxed, and she allowed herself to look at him. The boat pitched gently to the left, and they instinctively readjusted their footing. He smiled, all warmth, all understanding. "…is there nothing you value, just as highly as my roguish self ?"

Elizabeth, caught off guard, had a sudden picture of herself, standing in the prow, damp from the spray; alone in a moment between aiding the cook, tying knots, mopping, and the endless things that needed to be done daily. Her body remembered the inhale of breath, the sweetness of a moment alone. The taste on the top of her mouth, a flavor she had only ever associated with the water, the sky, the islands, a hunk of wood and cloth, and Jack.

The taste of freedom.

She smiled at him, and he smiled back; and she knew that he remembered, too.

"I'm sorry about the Pearl, Jack. I love her as well, you know."

"I know you do. I know it."

"What's this ?" Elizabeth, wide-eyed, cupped the elegant charm in her hand. It was an emerald set in silver, ringed with tiny moonstones, nearly too small for the eye to distinguish. It winked at her in the candlelight; and from the bed, Jack gave her a lazy smile.

"Anniversary present."

"It's not our anniversary. Do we… do we even have an anniversary ?"

"Somebody else's anniversary, then. Or perhaps we could make one up. I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Yes. I rather think I can."

She slipped underneath the coverlet beside him, and showed him a few of her best ideas. 


	3. Rings on Her Fingers

_Sometimes_, she thought, _I think of Will_.

I think of him, covered in soot answering the door to the shop; because that horrid old man couldn't stand long enough on two feet to unbar a door; Will still hot from the fire and tongs, Will breathless with pleasure at seeing me framed in the light. Will making sure nobody was around before he'd usher me in, ever mindful of my maidenly dignity, ever cautious of crossing my father, ever careful, ever sure. 

I think of Will for many years, every year a little taller, every year a little quieter, a little more of an adult, a little less of a child. I think of the first day Will stopped calling me Elizabeth- and the day he started again. 

I think of Will the man, who crossed the ocean with a pirate he couldn't, or wouldn't trust, to save my life. I think of Will bending every rule, throwing aside his surety in the right, his pride, sacrificing ever, for a moment, his good name… which, in the end, was not so good as he'd blindly believed. I think of Will, heavy-hearted, dropping the honest mantle of upright citizenry that bowed his shoulders like a yoke, to be a man on the high seas for a few precious days. I think of Will the man, not in service to a sword maker, but to duty.

I think of Will the boy, who opened his eyes to a girl he'd never met, and trusted her implicitly. Sometimes, too, I think of the girl that's left him. The girl who loved him, really she did. That one thing I cling to. 

It was like a fairy tale. And I had been the knight, and he the lady, and our troth was plighted in deeds and glances long before any rogue with a rum-soaked gait ever plagued our quiet harbor. In a way, I suppose Jack was the dragon who came to rip us apart, but instead of the offered victim, he took me.

The secret is, I've never liked fairy tales. 

"What stories did you like ?" Jack asks, truly curious, when she tells him this one day. 

"Folk tales. Ghost stories." she said. "I didn't believe them, but I preferred them. I preferred them because they were real stories." he quirked an eyebrow at her, eager for the chance to play devil's advocate, maybe.

"Fairy tales are true stories as well, love. They're just older."

"I suppose." she breathed, and pushed his arms aside to make room for herself on the bed. He gave way good-naturedly. "But… nobody's breathing in them. I can't hear what they were thinking at all. They fight and bleed and love and despair and die in folktales all the same; but it isn't so clean as a fairy tale."

Jack grinned and stretched like a cat, making sure to droop his arms across her; and gave a surreptitious little squeeze.

"I myself always prefer a story I can touch."

Nineteen days out of the last supply run to Tortuga, the Pearl and her crew ran across a fat little merchant ship, with English colors and a thin-looking crew. Jack's eyes got hungry, and he ordered an attack, but at the last moment either the elements or the ship itself must've warned him right, and he drew away. Jack, the ever-blessed. Jack, who claimed in moments of extreme inebriation to have risen from the sea like Venus, only "better armed". 

In truth, the merchant ship was no merchant ship- it was riding rather high in the water for a craft supposed to be carrying barrels of alcohol, spices, and trade goods. Its below-decks were full of King's men, soldiers and sailors, armed to the teeth; a sweet-smelling trap for unwary buccaneers. They came onto decks too quickly, before any great distance between them had been closed, and then Jack's confused crew saw the ruse as well.

The battle was brief, and the Pearl, outmatched in manpower, did herself justice in speed. They managed to get a few shots off before she outdistanced them, but it was wasted volley. However, in the rush to turn the boat around, Jack had been tripped by the ship's cat. He tumbled down a set of stairs on his way to deliver more shouted epithets, and dislocated his shoulder. Jack, the charmed, screamed fit to die until Elizabeth informed him he was being a wet washrag. The ship's cat, however, though he sorely would have liked to punish it, had gone overboard in the scuffle and was never seen again. 

"I want to get married." Jack said, in the instant before Mr. Gibbs pulled his arm back into alignment; and before the delighted Elizabeth had a moment to respond, fainted dead away. 

They were married in a church, which was already an unlikely prospect. But the grandest event of them all had to be the presentation of a gift to the bride, from the groom. The gift was the bride's father, kidnapped personally by Jack and well-trussed, untied in time to walk her down the isle.

His wrists were rather chafed, but secretly he was delighted. There had been very few weddings at which he had ever truly felt welcome. The governor relaxed enough to have two glasses of wine, after which he removed his wig and danced upon the table.

"I do." said Elizabeth.

"I do indeed." said Jack. He turned to the small audience. "Objectors _will_ be shot." 

Elizabeth and Jack disappeared several hours into the reception, in the direction of the shore and inn, and did not reappear until the next morning, to the knowing winks of crew and busybody townsfolk. 

Few people, if any, suspected that the pair had spent the first hours of their married life swimming in their clothes.


	4. Death and the Maiden

"Though we're poor as, hungry church-mice, and our bones are growin' old, ohhh my darlin', look around thee, to the love and the life I have brought thee, for my words are, true as silver, and my heart is made of gooooooold." Jack hollered, box-stepping to his own song, with the wheel as his partner. He took a drink with his left hand, and Gibbs shuddered. 

"If your heart was made of gold, Jack Sparrow, I'd cut it out o'your chest and give it to my sainted mother." Jack nodded in assent, caught himself, and frowned darkly.

"Mr. Gibbs, kindly put yourself overboard."

Gibbs heaved a coil of rope into the corner of the deck, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand in mock relief. 

"As long as I don't have to hear no more singin', then, Cap'n." he said, and dropped a tiny curtsey before heading down the stairs. Elizabeth passed him on her way up from the galley, and he gave her a knowing wink. She unbowed her head, taking in the glare of the water and the freshly-scrubbed wood. Barbossa's wickedness was only matched, it seemed, by his inability to maintain an inspection-quality vessel. The _Pearl_, returned to Jack's desperately affectionate hands, had taken months to become a lady once again; and not a moth-eaten hulk of driftwood. 

The deck was damp, so she stepped carefully, swinging a pail of wash-water for her hair. She shaded her eyes to glance up at a few stray seagulls, cackling overhead, and turned to smile at Jack; whose tuneless and irrepressible humming could probably be heard in the galley.

"You're in a good mood." she called, and he sang back to her some nonsense about crows being made of gold and silver. "What ?"

"The crow's nest, love. The crow's nest." he shrugged. "It's never done me false." And with that, he went back to his drink and the imaginary orchestra resonating in his head.

Hand-over-hand was the only way to get any decent information on a vessel where an oracle held the helm, she supposed. So up she went, her sunbrowned bare feet flashing like two slippery trout in the rigging. Up in the nest, she surprised the salty, dirt-smelling sixteen year old they'd picked up for a cabin boy in Jamaica; who dropped his handful of crackers and a few wrinkled playing cards right over the side.

"Beggin' yer.. I mean, I heard ye comin', and dinna'.... you right scared the living life out o'me, miss."

"Ma'am." she corrected, feeling her heart stop briefly. "Playing cards ?"

"An' watching the horizon like a damned 'awk, er, miss." he puffed out his chest, and thought involuntarily about how lovely The Miss was, and wasn't it a shame she hadn't eyes for anyone but That Odd Jack Fellow.

"Ma'am- oh, bah. Right. Well, I won't bother you. I'm just up here on an errand for Jack." he looked even more, if possible, surprised at this.

"Really ? He was just up here not ten minutes ago, yelling about pep... pepriker..."

"Paprika ?"

"Tha's it." he nodded. Elizabeth lapsed into a confused silence.

The wind was against them, but slow and steady the _Pearl _cruised along, unmindful. 

"Jack, you mad bastard... what aren't you telling ?" she murmured under her breath, and the slightly starry-eyed watch had the sense not to respond. 

A gust of fresh air, high above the waves, caught her nose, and in a breath she understood.

_Paprika_.

More than that, she smelled all manner of spices. It was the scent of pepper, nutmeg and cinnamon, carried high above the damp sea air on a current faster and slimmer than the rest of the wind. They were on the tail of a fat spice trader, bursting at the seams with goods- one that had perhaps met an accident, an accident that had released a burst of said spices into the onrushing air. They were trailing a crippled merchant vessel. She looked down, and for the first time noticed a few barrels and planks beginning to dot the horizon. 

When she reached deck again, breathless, she clambered up and over to Jack's post; where he was watching her with dark, amused eyes.

"You 'ad to smell it for yourself."

"Do you intend to sell the spices you capture this afternoon, or simply eat well for the next several years ?"

"Big picture, love, big picture. Grenada's the isle of spice, as it were. A fat trade's being done, and I'm not the man to leave a purse hanging in the air." Her eyes widened in sudden recognition. 

"You think it's Verdeem !"

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about." he sighed, turned the wheel a notch, and made a dramatic gesture to the Heavens, asking, perhaps, why the innocent were so persecuted on God's green earth. Elizabeth snorted and crossed her arms across her chest.

"You liar ! You think it's Verdeem. He's the only captain in the Caribbean that does business in Dutch diamonds as well as spices."

Caught, Jack could hardly stifle his grin.

"It may have crossed my mind."

"Sitting duck." Gibbs said, grinning. "Shall we make ready to come up alongside, Cap'n ?"

Jack's dark eyes were unreadable, and he said nothing. Elizabeth never pretended to understand his many moods; but she wasn't daft. Jack was listening to the _Pearl_ at the moment, _and the rest of us would do well to stay silent_, she thought. Gibbs went on, either not noticing the shift in mood, or not caring. "Funny. She's leaning to port a bit hard. Perhaps that's where she was hit."

"Hit on what, though, is the question. There's little to trip over in these waters. No… no, somebody's been here before us." Jack murmured. "I don't like this…"

Elizabeth leaned over the railing, and clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the scream.

"Jack !"

The crew turned as one; and Jack Sparrow, the Caribbean's own private devil, made the sign of the Holy Cross. 

"Mother Mary and all the saints…"

The full compliment of the _Intrigerend_ hung dangling in the breeze, heels knocking the hull of their own ship.


	5. More, Or Less

"Nothing for it, Captain. Not a single blessed soul left alive." Gibbs rested a hand on his knee as he stared out across the water, to the stained hull of the coffin-ship. The crew of the Black Pearl had gone aboard, searched every deck for signs of life, and found none. Elizabeth had tried to keep her cabin boy from going over, but he'd insisted he was man enough to face the Dutch ship's demons; right up until he vomited into the lifeboat.

"They hung the cat, too." he whispered, close to tears. 

Jack was silent, waiting for something, a ghost perhaps. Or a stray wind.

"Aye." 

"There's some goods left in the hold… should we bother ta'go through and…"

"No !" Elizabeth gasped, turning shocked eyes on Gibbs, who shrugged. Life goes on, he seemed to say. She faced Jack, shoulders proud and square, sure that he would be gazing across at Gibbs with an honorable seaman's righteous indignation. Instead, he was staring at her.

She realized, in that moment, that he'd been thinking of taking the items as well. His gentle face, which rarely, if ever, showed shame, seemed to draw inward slightly; and he turned away.

"No." Jack's dark orbs lowered to the water. "No. We'll not take a farthing. They deserve that much."

"Yessir."

"In fact," he added, "We'll burn the bodies, and sink whatever's left of the ship. And Mr. Gibbs, please make certain that there is no powder or shot left on board when you do so." he sighed, and a flicker of warmth resurfaced in his eyes. "We're burying them, not making powdered Dutchmen."

I wonder about him, sometimes. I wonder who he used to be, if there was ever a small Jack Sparrow that climbed trees, had lessons in a schoolhouse; one that ran errands for a farthing and knelt down next to his bed at night, said prayers, wished for a toy sword and a pocket full of sweets. I wonder if he lived by the sea, and what his father did for a living. I wonder if there was a Jack who wanted to be a merchant, or a barrister, or a father.

But this is only when he is asleep. Such a Jack could never have existed in the daylight; not awake. I will never ask him what he was, because I'm certain that some part of him does not remember the actual truth. Any childhood I learned about would be the one Jack dreamed of having; ever the scallywag, ever the man on top. I love the man, and he loves me; but he couldn't help the half-truths, the embellishments, and the tale-telling.

The only truly honest things about him are his scars; and his eyes; and his body.

But this is only when he is asleep.

"I saw a ship like that."

This is the first thing he has spoken since the morning, and it startles her out of a dreamy reverie. Elizabeth raises her head off of his chest, and stares at him. "I saw a ship like that," he continues "when I was a boy. The crew, all dead. Nothing taken, really, just some supplies. It was a pirate ship, not a merchant vessel, and they'd been raiding for a few weeks up and down the coast of Jamaica. Their hull was nearly full."

"Full ?" she said, stupidly, and blinked the sleep out of her eyes. He went on as if she hadn't spoken, tracing out the long-dead shapes of memory in the air with jeweled fingers. 

"Gold, pearls, precious silks. None of it was taken. They left it in the hull for another ship to find. And the bodies, too. Piled on the deck. Not hung, of course, shot, but dead all the same. The cabin boy, the cook, every man aboard. All with surprised faces."

"Who would do such a thing ?"

Jack smiled, sadly, and stroked her hair.

"There are a few."

"But why… why, if it was a raid, would they take nothing ?"

"It's a show of power. It's done, sometimes, to mark out territory, to threaten. To pay back a disrespect, maybe. But there's very few men won't take the gold as well. Takes a special breed." he spat.

"How old were you then ?" she murmured.

"Eleven." he kissed her forehead as he spoke. "It was the first and last time I'd ever seen my father's ship."

They lay silent beside one another then, listening to the sounds of the water against the wood. The Pearl was marked not only for her speed, but her stealth in the water; she cut it like a hot knife in the dark, and the waves healed again behind her. Elizabeth laid her head back down, listened to his heartbeat, thought about what she'd do if she found him, face-up and bloodless. _Probably sail the seas forever_, she thought, never stopping, always moving, strange and secretive and never really thinking anything was right again. 

"You were thinking about taking the goods off of that ship today, Jack."

"Aye."

"I don't think any less of you."

"That's good."


	6. Once and Future

In the starlight, with a glass of rum already in her belly, fears dissolve like sparks in friendly eyes. Jack is singing softly to himself, a familiar tune, with his head in her lap. The crew, bloated as puffer fish from a good night's spending, pockets heavy with a good week's take, are spread out along the decks in smallish knots of people. Here and there are songs, are simpler tales; are memories of women and particularly grand ocean currents. 

A lump in her throat, the size of a robin's egg, rises. It was near this time last year that she lost a smallish thing, but precious. A child; or, the chance of one. Pregnant three months, she had finally told him, a surprise too huge to truly comprehend, but he'd taken it in good-natured stride. At the end, mere days before she had started to bleed, he had told her the hoped-for name. Begged her for it, in fact. He had been as excited, as frightened, as joyous as she. Jack Sparrow, a father. Jack Sparrow, publicly announcing once again how he'd proven his incredible manhood and vigor; but mostly his inexplicable longing to be, at his core, a good man. He cried longer than she did, in fits and starts, but in total and absolute solitude only. And only at the wheel of the _Pearl_.

Elizabeth would never bear another child, and not even the ghost of one. And, stroking his hair while he dozed, she knew it made no difference. She loves him better than anyone she's ever known, loves him with a selfish and gentle passion that terrifies and thrills. And he, mysterious, offers her all things. It's no life for a child, a nomadic and illegal existence scraped out on the flats of other men's ships. 

But here, in the starlight, sometimes she wonders. She might have rocked one, and sang it to sleep. 

It's only a passing thought. 

The first fear comes from the water itself. 

She sees the light dazzling on the water; feels the spray and tastes the closeness of the rocks into which Jack has just dived. He missed open water by mere inches, and is bobbing face-down with a thin stream of blood following alongside; playful maroon dolphins in a ship's wake.

"MAN OVERBOARD !" the crew is busy yelling to one another, and it doesn't seem like saying enough. When he goes off hurtling towards danger, there really ought to be some more appropriate shouts. Shouts like "there'll be no tomorrow unless he's breathing, dammit, get him up now, he'd better be breathing". The latter is, of course, what she is saying now. Elizabeth is alternately rubbing his dear (alive) chilly hands and slapping his dear (alive) stupid chest.

"Saw somethin' shiny." he says, later, and shrugs.

"Idiot." she hisses, lovingly, and he doesn't disagree. 

The second fear is the most ridiculous. To the point that even Elizabeth is unable to bear the mere thought, and has made the crew promise not to ever speak on it again. Jack, bless his heart, fell out of the rigging and nearly brained himself on Monday last. Bless his heart, bless his heart and the rest of his addled body. She turns around at noon that day, the day Jack fell, and sees her shadow stretched out behind her. It moved with her, as a shadow should, though it was unnatural; and gave her nightmares for a fortnight. 

The third fear she does not share. 

She dreams of Jack's death, and although she wakes in his arms, feels the loss settle in the center of her chest like a leaden ball. A shrinking quiet has lay upon the Pearl for weeks now; it is the shadow she cannot shake. Jack Sparrow has lost his luck.

As it turns out, she needn't have worried. 

They are in a bar above Tortuga to the north, a quiet place that has long been one of their best buyers in the smuggling trade. A quiet place, clean beds and all, that cooks hearty meals for taste buds not yet saturated with drink. Jack hates it, and has often tried to start vicious brawls, but cannot seem to get himself kicked out or even scolded. And never will. For unbeknownst to him, he was about to burn it down. And burn it down he did. Kicked over a lamp in a wroth over being ignored. Kindling couldn't have given a cheerier performance. And a ceiling beam trapped him away from his crew, on the far side; where no door and no window could give him aid.

Then the ceiling fell in. Directly in a circle around his thrice-damned hide. 

"I'll never lose my luck, you ridiculous woman." he says, burnt black and still clinging to a half-empty flagon. "You _are_ my luck."

"Oh, Jack !"

"You're not, uh... going anywheres, are you ?"

"Oh, Jack."

They were hunted. It's true. True also that they were never caught. They sailed until they were old, they say; and then Jack Sparrow and his swan-throated bride went back to the sea, where they'd been born, been married, and been one. Of course the middle's more interesting than the end, quiet voices get lost in the clash of steel-on-steel and the clink of cursed gold in a silk purse. 

They say they went hand-in-hand together into the spray, and that their bodies never rose. Some say they became mermaid, or fish, and swam out into the kingdoms of the deep; but generally if anyone speaks that out loud, the proper authorities are alerted. 

Their marrows were made of saltwater pearls, they say, and the sea owned them both. Ah, could all be lies. Even so, Jack would tell you it's the story that counts; and as stories go, it was a fine one.


End file.
